


Demon

by MrHistoryman14



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Christianity, Demons, Drama, Gangsters, Gen, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrHistoryman14/pseuds/MrHistoryman14
Summary: Be  careful who you made friends with.  They may be from the depths of Hades itself.





	Demon

Russell Paul seen a lot in his day. His daddy was a bookkeeper who carried on with the librarians. His mama was a dirty woman herself. But did that stop him? No sir. Rackets was the game, then money laundering, drugs, smuggling. Nobody got hurt...well, nobody he knew got hurt, and that was fine, and good.

But now? He was truly over his head. And wished he had gone to Sunday School when he could.

"So tell me, Russell." The voice spoke clearly, a touch of anger in his voice as he spoke. "Did your boys handle that little secretary like I asked?" The man's voice was smooth as crystal. He sat in Paul's own chair, behind Paul's own desk, and stared out the window to the view of Los Angeles below him. Paul should have ordered the person to show some respect, to get out of his chair. 

But this person was different. 

"N-no." Paul stammered, his voice actually cracking. "No, she... she managed to kill my boys." A sigh of annoyance came from the chair, and the figure turned into view. The man was terrifying. His skin was the color of blood, his hands were clawed, and his eyes... his eyes burned the most violent yellow Paul had ever seen. A black velvet frock coat sat in perfect position on the man, not a single strand out of place. 

"And why, might I ask, did your men fail?" He said in a soft-voice, a dip of a old Sussex dialect, clawed finger tapping on the oak desk. 

"A-apparently she had a sword..." Paul tripped over his words and the figure in front of him simply kept staring. His yellow eyes never leaving Paul's, never blinking. 

"And I take it your boys did not make use of what I told them?" 

"...."

The figure rose and walked around the desk, humming something. Paul struggled to remember what it was - it was so familiar. 'To Anacreon in Heaven', that was it. Paul tried to back up as the figure approached him, but a cold clawed hand snapped faster than his eyes could see and wrapped itself around his throat and carried him roughly into the wall. 

"Let me make this simple for you, with your disability... of humanness..." The figure hissed, his other claw almost caressing Paul's face and burning the skin. "I am in a very tight schedule but I am going to make my deadline. I spent my first life selling negroes and then I crawled my way to where I am now." The figure leaned in and his yellow eyes bored into Paul's, and he licked the tears that dripped down the man's cheeks. "I will not have a worm like you ruining my plans." 

The claw ripped against Paul's throat, just enough to make him bleed. Paul collapsed onto the floor, gasping and clutching his neck desperately. Barnabas Sterret could care less about the man as he looked out to Los Angeles. "Pretty soon, this city of Angeles going to be the town of Demons by the time I'm done with it. Put all those Old Guard and bags of dirt to shame. And this little angel girl and her friends? They going to feel the heat."


End file.
